Burdan | Mabel Matiz Antidepresan — Gitme

"I'm trying to surface," he replied, finally meeting her gaze. His eyes were bloodshot, reflecting the flickering streetlights. "But the medicine only makes the water feel warmer. It doesn't help me swim. Sen gidersen, gökyüzü de gider. If you go, the sky goes too."

She stood up. The chair scraped against the wood like a sob. She didn't look back as she pushed through the heavy door.

Selim looked at his hands. He felt like a ghost haunting his own body. He wanted to scream, to tear the floorboards up, to beg. But the words felt heavy, drugged by months of trying to stay numb. "Gitme burdan," he finally said. Don't leave this place. It wasn't a command. It was a collapse. Gitme Burdan | Mabel Matiz Antidepresan

"Selim, we talked about this," she said, her voice trembling. "The sadness here... it’s swallowing you. I can’t stay underwater just to hold your hand."

The rain in Istanbul didn’t just fall; it blurred the edges of the world, much like the static in Selim’s mind. He sat in a corner of a smoky Galata café, the neon sign outside buzzing a frantic rhythm that matched his pulse. "I'm trying to surface," he replied, finally meeting

The radio in the back transitioned to a rhythmic, pulsing beat—Mabel Matiz’s voice drifting through the steam of the espresso machine. “Gitme burdan, sen olmadan ben asla yaşayamam...”

"Say something," she whispered, her voice barely rising above the low hum of a radio playing in the kitchen. It doesn't help me swim

Selim stayed. He listened to the song end and the next one begin. He took the blister pack out, looked at the small white tablet, and then put it back in his pocket. For the first time in months, he didn't want the numbness. He wanted to feel the hole she left behind, because at least that hole was real.